


Pavlove

by loveneverends33



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Anger, Angst, Cute, Drama, F/M, Fanfiction, Humor, Loss of Parent(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Parent Death, Romance, Slow Build, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveneverends33/pseuds/loveneverends33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever heard of "Pavlov's Dog" experiment? It's all about retraining the brain - reacting a specific way to a certain stimulus. Take for example, the stimulus were someone taking a swipe at your head. One of two basic instincts occur: take cover and hide - or fight back.</p><p>As a professional female boxer, my instinct is to fight back - it's part of the job description. But conditional training has rewired my brain to be ready for a fight whenever I hear my favorite band, Fall Out Boy. So you better believe I listen to them on repeat before a match.</p><p>My advantage puts me on the map, and my growing spotlight seems to attract a particular member of the band. But what happens when not only my brain gets rewired, but my heart as well?</p><p>As they say - your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getaway

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the band Fall Out Boy nor do I own the song Pavlove, which is owned and created by aforementioned band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the song Pavlove or the band Fall Out Boy (but I wish I did!).

**Patrick**

_ A moment passed. Then another. _

_ “What?” Patrick’s blue eyes blinked in rapid succession in hopes that his sight was deceiving him. “What is this?” _

_ He heard Elisa sigh and wished that it was one of regret. But when he raised his head, she lifted the handle of her luggage and adjusted the strap of her carry-on. “I want a divorce, Patrick.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Pat-” _

_ “No! Don’t call it quits, El.” _

_ “Do you think I want to? I just can’t handle this anymore!” She sat on the bar stool near the island of the kitchen counter and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  _

_ He walked hesitant steps toward her. Afraid that if he rushed, she would run away like a scared doe. “Tell me how to fix this,” he whispered. _

_ She wrapped her lips around a slender digit and contemplated whatever was on her mind until she finally spoke, “Music or me.” _

_ It felt like she slapped him across the face and punched him in the gut all at once.  _

_ In a breathless voice he said, “You know how much music means to me.” _

_ She returned a thin smile. “I shouldn’t have to ask, Patrick.” _

_ He watched her grab the handle again and she walked out the front door.  _

_ This time he didn’t try to stop her. _

* * *

 

Patrick hated his own mind sometimes. It made him relive memories he’d rather leave behind.

Had it really been six months since the divorce? Since Elisa left him?

He knew it was probably for the best, but it didn’t make the heartache lessen. He learned how to numb the pain and for now, it was enough.

"Did you really have to wear the Hollywood-camo get-up?" Pete asked. 

His voice startled him and Patrick prayed to God he didn’t see him zoning out. “Uh,” was all he could say while he attempted to pull his mind from the fog.

"At least take your hat off. You made that thing into your own Batman signal."

Patrick finally took in account his surroundings and remembered he was in line at a crowded Starbucks. He looked up to view the rim of the hat he wore and realized that his best friend made a point. He didn't think the fedora would make him such a recognizable target. He casually lifted the hat off — ruffled his sweaty, dirty blonde roots — and gave it to Pete. "Sorry, I forgot about that. Good catch."

"What would you do without me?" he asked and bumped into Patrick roughly, making him stumble into the woman paying for her order.

"Sorry, ma'am," Patrick apologized while he glared at Pete, giving him a look that said  _ Dude, you suck _ .

He just shrugged his shoulders. Rolling his eyes, Patrick gladly removed himself from his self-made pity party. It was time to move on.

"What are we even doing here?"

“We can’t function without coffee. You know that,” his smart mouth replied.

Was it a normal feeling to want to strangle your best friend? Patrick couldn’t tell. He’s had this feeling for as long as he’s known Pete.

He shook his thoughts away. “No, I mean why are we in Virginia?” Patrick inquired again. 

Pete was the kind of man who felt at home surrounded by chaos — if not creating it himself. He shrugged again. "You said you wanted to get away." He was also quick to point out, "' _ Any fucking place, man _ .'"

At that memory, a wry smile appeared on Patrick’s face. Pete recited the last words he’d said in a drunken stupor a few nights before.

"Yeah, don’t remind me," he commented. “I would have never thought Pete Wentz vacationed at Suburbia, Virginia.”

"Excuse me, but I think this place is rich with history and a wonderful place to relax at."

Patrick paused for a moment. "You closed your eyes and picked a state on a map, didn't you?"

"You need to stop mind-reading, Patty-cakes."

30 years old and you would have thought that nickname had died by now. Apparently not.

Patrick wanted to complain some more until he heard a loud cough. He looked at the barista manning the cashier, all fake-smiles with the familiar green visor, ready to take the order. 

"What’s the order today, sir?"

One more withering glance at Pete and he turned back to the boy in front of him. "Two black coffees, medium."

The boy nodded. "Names?"

"Pete and Patrick," Pete interjected. 

Patrick stared at him with fearful eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Two grande americanos!" the boy repeated loudly for the baristas beside him. “Should be ready shortly.”  Another fake-smile and he was already paying attention to the next person in line. 

Patrick released a relieved breath. "Maybe it's a good thing we're in Virginia, then," he agreed.

"Knew you'd come around to it."

The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air along with indie-pop-rock songs from the speakers. Patrick stepped for the milk and sugar station as he and Pete waited for their order. He would have been happy to stay quiet but such a dull moment never existed in Pete’s world.

“Is there anything you want to do while we’re here?” his best friend questioned.

Patrick sent him a strange look. “You don’t have a plan?”

“Nope,” he stated. “Figured we’d wing it once we got here.”

Patrick just chuckled to himself. He shouldn’t have expected any more from Pete. It was only the way he was. “Yeah,” he settled. “Of course we will.”

“Unless you want to go to a strip club. I could totally do that.”

His cheeky suggestion left Patrick a fumbling mess. He forgot where they stood and knocked over spices, sweetener packets, and worst of all — thermos cups of milk — all over the table. Pete’s snickers made his face redden; he couldn’t discern if it came from his obvious embarrassment or his ever growing annoyance towards Pete.

“ _ Ay _ !” a woman with braided black hair exclaimed. “ _ Mira! _ Look at this mess!” she said with a slight accent.

She wasn’t wearing the normal attire the rest of the employees wore. Instead of a green smock wrapped around her body, she wore a plain black blouse and khaki-colored pants. Her breast pocket told him she was Penelope, the store manager.

His face reddened even further.

“I’m so sorry!” Patrick apologized as Pete giggled louder than before. He noticed the cleaning equipment she carried and grasped at the opportunity of absolution. “I’ll even clean it up, ok?”

She thrusted the mop to him hurriedly. 

“ _ Toma _ . I want it spotless,” she demanded in a frenzy. Her fleeting eyes taking in the crowd of customers.

“Tia Peti, what are you doing?!” another voice interjected. He vaguely saw a tiny girl — she must have been if he had to look down — stand next to him in his peripheral vision. “You can’t treat customers like that! It’s bad for business, not to mention  _ rude _ .”

“Gris, look at what he did to  _ la mesa! Y el piso, tambien! _ ”

Patrick dropped his gaze to the floor and noted that most of the liquid dripped on the floor. He did cause quite the mess.

He heard the girl’s jaw tick loudly. 

“Get your employees to clean it up. It’s what you pay them for, isn’t it?” 

She whisked away the mop from Patrick before he could stop her. He found his voice a second later and told her, “Look, I really don’t mind. It’s my mess.”

The girl shoved the cleaning equipment back to the manager; much like the same way the distraught woman did to him. Without sparing a backwards glance, the girl said, “Don’t let my aunt guilt-trip you. She may be the manager but she’s lazy.” 

The manager — Penelope, Peti, whatever — pinched her niece’s side. “ _ Callate vos! _ ”

The girl just smacked her hand off. “ _ You _ shut up! Pay attention to the rest of the customers. Give the mop to a minion or something.”

If Patrick hadn’t felt so embarrassed, he would’ve thought the exchange was funny. It didn’t seem like a typical aunt-niece relationship but he didn’t contemplate on it too much.

He watched the girl stroll for the pick-up section as she chatted away with the baristas. He heard her change their orders, and mentally shouted many praises to the baristas for not mentioning their names.

Pete felt his best friend jump when he clamped his arm around him. “That worked out better than I thought,” he jeered. 

Patrick jerked his arm off. “You’re too much, you know that?”

They heard some more arguing between the manager and the girl. Patrick understood enough Spanish to know that Penelope didn’t agree with her niece getting them free stuff.

“They don’t look too happy,” Pete noted.

They watched as the girl defiantly slapped a plastic card on the counter as she openly scowled at the manager. She just threw her arms up, exacerbated by her niece’s actions, and let the barista charge the card. 

He didn’t say anything more as the girl approached them. She was still speaking with the crew behind  her, carrying two large coffees in both hands, so she didn’t notice the puddle of milk she was going to step on.

Patrick watched as she slipped and slid across the floor like a bad imitation of the infamous Risky Business scene.

He winced, waiting for the impending crash but Pete and him were stunned as she regained her balance without spilling a single drop of hot, scalding coffee. She managed to stop directly in front of them, and Patrick sent a silent thanks to the gods she didn’t end up scalding him and Pete, either.

She inspected herself a quick minute before sending them a charming smile. “Whoops! Close call.”

As soon as everyone regarded each other, Patrick noticed her slacked jaw and he readied himself for a fanatical scream. 

They’d been recognized.

Instead of squealing her head off like he expected, she just shook her head and schooled her features. 

“Sorry for staring. I think I need to check on my eyes again,” she said in a self-chastising tone. She handed the coffees to them, along with a large bag of pastries he hadn’t noticed. She even added sandwiches for them both.  “Little consolation upgrade for dealing with my nutty aunt.”

They were relieved she hadn’t outed them. They played along with her little excuse so long as they wouldn’t get exposed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Patrick declared.

She scoffed as she waved her hand. “Peti likes to make things a bigger deal than they really are. She needs some supervision of her own.”

Patrick grinned at the girl. “Thank you, um…”

“Grey,” she filled in, offering an outstretched hand to him.

He took it amiably. “I’m — “ Patrick realized he couldn’t reveal his real name without having the girl reconsider her excuse so he went with the next best thing. “ —Martin. Name’s Martin.”

Her dark brown eyes squinted at him in suspicion and he wondered how much of a fan the girl was.

Pete redirected her attention to him to break her train of thought. “And I’m Lewis. Nice to meet you, Grey.”

It seemed that she decided to ignore the similarities and continued. “All I ask is that you don’t complain about Peti. I don’t think there’s a job in the world that can handle her.”

Just then they heard a familiar shrill at the counter.

“Cooper,  _ la mujer _ said no whip cream!” the manager shouted nervously at the boy from earlier. “ _ Ay, Dios, dame la fortaleza de no matar este niño.” _

Grey slapped her forehead as Patrick bugged his eyes out at the comment. Pete looked at him for an answer, since he was the only non-Spanish speaker. 

“‘God, give me the strength to not kill this boy.’”

“Drama queen,” the girl grumbled. She whirled to watch the scene with an irritated huff. “I better go back there. She’s only like this if it’s super busy.” She bid them farewell with a small flick of her wrist and rushed to her aunt’s side.

Pete took a small sip of the coffee as he watched Grey smack the back of her aunt’s head. 

“Just use a spoon to scoop up the whipped cream! No need to make death threats!” 

“I should embarrass you more often. We meet very interesting people that way,” Pete remarked.

“You need some supervision, too.”

“Probably.”

They decided it was best to leave the store. Like Grey said before, they had enough close calls for the day.

It was the first time, Patrick noticed, that he didn’t think about the divorce, or even Elisa for that matter.

Maybe things were looking up after all.


	2. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the band Fall Out Boy nor do I own the song Pavlove, which is owned and created by aforementioned band.

**Grey**

There was nothing quite as satisfying like the loud and sickening  _ crack  _ of a nose breaking.

My opponent’s head snapped back and she momentarily lost her balance; the elastic bands that squared us in saved her from falling head-first onto the matted floor. She struggled to stand back up but she managed to, just seconds away from the referee calling her out. I couldn’t help showing her a tiny grin. 

_ Good girl, get back in the fight _ , I thought.

She finally learned her lesson and kept a gloved fist near her chin. The glove was dulled with age, but it matched the shade of red that poured out of her face. 

She was furious and in such predictable fashion, she threw a jab aiming for my face. Before she rotated her hips, I had already pushed on my right toe to dodge left.

I moved in swift dances around her a little longer, dodging around her jabs with quick efficiency. Her punches were becoming erratic but somehow I was able to find a rhythm. I used it to my advantage and to keep things interesting, I even allowed her to graze my cheek. 

Our dance helped me regain my energy. Her last hook hit me directly on the cheek, knocking my teeth against it so hard that it created an open gash. I swallowed the rusty saliva down my throat and I didn’t have any time to be bothered by it.

I waited long enough for her to stop breathing correctly. She was losing herself to the anger and that was the mistake I was counting on.

She threw a tired right jab, making sure to keep her left fist tucked under her chin. As soon as I ducked, I delivered fast hooks at her exposed ribs. Her body recoiled against the assault and she clung to me like a life jacket.

I knocked her off and intended to finish her off mercifully. She didn’t need another punch in the face. An untreated broken nose hurt like a bitch.

But before I could do so, the bell rang and the round ended.

“Corners!” the referee ordered. He ran between us and pushed us to our respective spots. 

I sagged with relief as soon as I saw my familiar blue stool. My trainer was thoughtful enough to hand me an ice cold water bottle and a bucket to spit in. I sat down, removed the mouthguard,  and swished the water in my mouth in an attempt to clean the gash. The blood wasn’t flowing as fast as before, or nearly as much. 

Connor, my trainer, went straight to work on my back. His hands squeezed aching muscles as he prepared me for the next round. “You’re doing great, Grey. Just one more blow and she’s out like a light.”

Focused on the woman across from me, I could only nod in agreement. She looked like a raging bull and I was the waving red flag. 

His slick, cold hands moved up to my neck, rolling it left and right to keep it relaxed. “Just finish her off. I need you to turn on that mental radio of yours.”

I felt two fingers tap the side of my head roughly, as if the act would turn on my “mental radio.”

I whipped my head around to glare at him. “You know there’s no button, right?”

He snapped my head back in place. “Stop thinking! Just do it — the bell’s gonna ring any minute.”

With a scowl in place, I knew that Connor was right. I pushed the annoyance I felt for him far away from my mind and attempted to do what he asked. I squeezed my eyes shut and with practiced ease, I imagined myself into the abyss. Any noise from the crowd was replaced with a peaceful silence. It was endlessly dark but warm, as comforting as the embrace of a mother and her newborn child. If we all had our own happy place, this would be mine.

Straight ahead, a soft light shone brightly against the blackness, and I walked toward it. It almost felt like I was gliding, floating, since I couldn’t feel anything below my feet. The closer I came to it, I wondered if Connor had been right. The light grew brighter and I stopped right in front of a jukebox — or as Connor called it, my mental radio. 

“ _ Well, he wasn’t wrong,”  _ my thoughts verbalized.

In a hurry, I shuffled through the tracks. I already spent too much time inside my head, and I had a match to get back to. My hand hovered in place as I stopped at the track I wanted. The buttons — the jukebox, really — were just for show. I was in my head, after all.

One sharp inhalation later, and I was immediately brought back in the ring. The roar of people cheering returned to my ears only to be drowned by my jukebox. My favorite song was playing at full volume, the vibrations reaching deep inside my bones. Even my heart rattled in my chest from the booming bass.

Connor was a distant memory, a tether that held me in reality. One that I happily cut off.

The woman across the ring stared at me with so much hate, it made me smile like a maniac.

The music caused a primal burn within me, begging to be released.

_ Fight. Fight. Fight. _

I had to remind myself that my instinct didn’t rule over me. I had to remind myself the reason I boxed. I had to remind myself the reason I fought.

_ It’s for them _ .

Then I saw rather than heard the bell being rung.

**_Fight!_ **

***

Connor hauled me out of the ring after the judges declared me the winner.

“Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.” He threw the satin robe over my head, making me look like a nun in the process but I honestly couldn’t care less about it.

I almost threw a punch at him though. Because his words only fanned the flame.

Connor swung his torso around with a sheepish grin. “Wrong thing to say, huh?”

My short nails created deep half-moons inside my hands in an effort to speak normally. “At least you’re smart enough to know you’re an idiot.”

He laughed at the insult, and even though it should’ve annoyed me, my mind and heart were racing much too fast for me to pay attention.

He placed himself in front of me, and I knew it was my cue to follow the next step of our routine. My fingers curled at his sides, clutching the fabric of his sweater in my fists. Once he was sure I held onto him, he moved forward. His arms swung reporters and photographers out of the way, leaving behind a semi-clear path for me to walk on. 

“You good?” he asked.

One rough tug was my answer: yes.

He moved faster until we left the arena and entered the tunnels. The darkness reminded me of my happy place, and my hands loosened their hold on Connor a bit. The burning need wouldn’t leave, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins didn’t help, either.

In this state of mind, the need to  _ destroy _ was overwhelming. 

A few feet farther, we stopped in front of a metal door. The name “Romero, Griselda” was written on a white sheet of paper, unceremoniously taped on the door. How courteous.

Connor opened the door to my reserved locker room. I zeroed in on the bench at the very back of the room, and unclenched my hands from his side to walk there. I planted my ass on the flat wood, yet it did nothing to ease my tension. It felt stiff like me.

“How’re you feeling?”

I pointed to my cheek. 

He nodded in understanding. “There’s a few docs out there. Most of ‘em are treating the other girl. You gave her a good beating.”

That cracked a smile out of me which didn’t go unnoticed. “Gimme a few minutes, okay?”

Connor flashed me a quick thumbs up before retreating for the door. He even made sure to turn off the lights before he left.

I smiled at the enveloping darkness. Air filled my lungs with with less effort than before and my hands weren’t clutching the bench for dear life.

My heart was still beating at a thousand miles a minute, and although the burn was lessening, I was tempted to break the bench in two or try to dent the door.

Releasing at irritated breath, I swung my feet on the bench and laid my back flat against it.

“Happy place, happy place, happy place…” I repeated to myself. Once I closed my eyes, there I was.

I was far, far away from my jukebox this time around. The light still surrounded it, but it reminded me of a speck of a star in the dark sky.

I was still floating, but the experience was vastly different since I was horizontal instead of vertical. It felt like I was swimming in the ocean, and the next thing I knew my hands were drifting me along the waves I imagined.

I stopped thinking about my thundering chest and what was happening beyond my locker room door; instead I focused on the cool water, the gentle waves, and how the abyss sounded like as the water lapped at my ears. 

“God, how can you stand the silence?”

My eyes wandered at each and every direction but it was too dark. Her voice didn’t startle me though. She always appeared, sooner or later.

“If you don’t like it, then leave,” I told her.

“You’re my only company. I’ll take what I can get.”

The water sloshed in my ear as I tilted my head. “You feel lonely?”

Only silence answered and I thought I finally pushed her away when I heard a hot whisper in my ear. “Don’t you?”

“Fuck!” I splashed water in the direction of her voice but I knew I didn’t wet her. “Why do you always have to creep me out?”

“It’s fun!” Her hot breath returned to my ear. “C’mon, answer my question. Don’t you feel lonely, too?”

“No,” I replied immediately.

“Oh, that sounds  _ so  _ convincing.”

“I have Tia. I have Connor. I’m never alone.”

Her resounding giggle raised goosebumps on my arms. “Now, now Grey! You know that wasn’t my question.” I felt a heavy body sitting on my stomach and she lowered herself so that we’d be thigh-on-thigh, belly-to-belly, breast-to-breast until we were face-to-face. “You know the difference between alone and lonely. You know how I know?” 

“ _ Shut up!” _

But she wouldn’t. “I’m you. You’re me. And when I say I feel lonely, so do you. I know why. You know why. Let me help you.”

Her hands traced my throat and my eyes widened at her gentle touch. Her beatic smile looked downright angelic and even though she had my face, she was nothing like me. I was practical, she was reckless. I was loving, she was dangerous. I was scared, she was fearless.

“Get off me!”

“You may not like it, but I know what you want.” Her hands, so gentle before, hardened to diamonds, constricting my airways. “Let me help you.”

I scratched at her hands and wished that I never cut my nails in the first place. Like a useless fish out of water I gasped in an attempt to collect as much oxygen that my closed off lungs could get. “Stop,” I said, my voice weak as a mouse.

Her brown eyes relished in my demise. “Just give up!” Her voice rose an octave as if she couldn’t handle the excitement. “Give up!”

I shook my head, so stubborn to prove to her — to myself — that I could never give up so easily. That only served to piss her off more so she did the only thing left to do.

In one push, she shoved me under the water and held me there for more seconds than I could bear. I could feel the cold air pierce my arms as I lifted them to grab her. I screamed in desperation and only later realized that I stupidly filled my lungs with water.

In a voice that sounded just like my mother, she said, “Give up.”

In that instance, I woke up with a strong pain on my side and immeasurable relief that I could breathe. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I remembered the fight and my locker room. I remembered lying on the bench and noticed that I was now laying on the floor. I rolled onto my back and felt my throat. No soreness, no water, nothing out of the ordinary.

I closed my eyes. So it was dream. A terrible dream.

God, not again.


	3. Responsibilities

**Grey**

The door hadn’t completely shut behind me and my duffel bag hadn’t even slid off my shoulder before Peti crashed into me.

“ _Mija!_ Tell me—did you win? You _had_ to have won! Right? Right?”

She held my face and neck so tight in her hands that it was difficult (and not to mention annoying) to answer her. “Off cosh I von.”

Her brown eyes brightened again and I indulged her bear hugs and quick pecks on my face. I winced when her lips pressed too hard on the cut inside my cheek. “Sorry, _mija_. Did you get hurt too much?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I can’t handle, Tía.” I allowed myself to relax in her arms and rested my head onto her shoulder. She was soft and smelled like coffee, sugar, and her favorite perfume. “Can I have some Abuelita’s?”

Peti pinched my side in response and I yanked myself from her. “You can’t have chocolate this late at night! Besides, you’ll break out.”

I sent a tired smile at her. “You _would_ worry about that.”

“Well someone has to. You work on your strength while I make sure you still have sex appeal.”

“You know what? I’m going to bed now. Good night.”

Peti latched herself to me and dragged me to the kitchen. “I’m _joking_ , Gris! It is late to be having chocolate but you won the match, so you deserve the treat. Give me all the details!”

She pushed me to a chair at the kitchen table and quickly made her way to find a saucepan and the delicious chocolate tablets. As soon as I heard her turn the gas on and pouring milk into the pan, I relayed all the details of the fight.

“She’s got potential,” I began. “She got my cheek real good but it took her some time to get to that point. It felt like she was solely relying on instinct, which isn’t such a bad thing normally, but there was no strategy.”

Peti dropped a tablet with an audible _plop_ in the milk. She looked over her shoulder to send me an amused smirk. “They aren’t kidding when they say boxing is like chess.”

I groaned. “I really hate that analogy because I suck at chess. But I see the similarity. I spent weeks watching this girl’s previous matches. I pretty much _counted_ on her instincts driving this match but it didn’t feel like an earned victory.”

Peti returned to the table with two large mugs of my favorite hot chocolate, complete with a cinnamon sticks. “What are you talking about? You won fair and square right?” she asked expectantly.

I took a small sip and smiled in content. “Technically, yes. But I over-prepared and got everything I expected from her. It only lasted as long as it did because I wanted to push her to her limits.” I covered the mug with both hands and even though the drink was much too hot, I made my hands stay put. “It’s like… I cheated in a way. I knew what moves were coming, most of the time. I even pulled my trump card unnecessarily. All because I wanted more from the fight—like more of a challenge. I wanted to crush her.”

Peti widened her eyes a bit. “You did the thing?”

“Yes,” I replied, squirming in my chair uncomfortably.

She sighed. “I don’t understand why you always feel bad afterwards. I get why it’s your trump card, but you have a talent for boxing, Gris. It’s what makes you so great at the sport. There’s no shame in this.”

“But I pretty much guaranteed her failure. Even if she wasn’t quite adept at mind-fucking like me, I still would have won without it.” I stared at the frothy chocolate drink to avoid looking at her eyes. “I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to do it.”

Peti gently placed her hands on my wrists. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re much better at controlling it than a few years ago.” I shuddered at the reminder. “You said you want to be the best boxer of all time. That means you _always_ give it your all using whatever you got.”

My sardonic chuckle made her frown. “I think you’re down playing this too much.”

“And you’re overreacting. _Mija,_ you won your first match on _national TV_. Your debut couldn’t have gone any better.” Peti pushed herself off the chair, looking ready to leave. “Go to bed when you’re done. You need the rest. It won’t be long until you have to train again.”

I watched her disappear from the kitchen and heard her soft footsteps reach the stairs. I finished the hot chocolate in one huge gulp and stared at the bottom of the mug. “Overreacting, huh?” I mused to myself. “I hope you’re right.”

***

“Griselda! _Levantate, muchachita!_ It’s 8 in the morning. Enough sleep.”

I cracked one eye open and searched for my phone. The clock read 7:35 am and I needed to remind myself that Peti is family, so therefore I cannot kill her within good reason.  I grumbled my grievances quietly as I tried to find some pants before leaving my room.

As I reached the foot of the stairs, I told her, “Peti, you’re the one who told me to rest up. And it’s not even 8 yet!”

“I’m not so nice to let you oversleep. Here.” She hands me a plate of fluffy pancakes. “Go eat. Don’t worry, I snuck some protein pancakes in there too.” She waved me off to finish cooking her second batch.

I sent her a suspicious look as I sat down at the table. “You never make me pancakes.” I took a bite of the fluffy, buttery pieces of goodness. _Protein pancakes will never beat this._ “Ever,” I repeated despite having a full mouth.

“That’s because I need you to do something.”

I swallowed. “Ah. So you’re literally trying to butter me up.”

She stayed quiet and smiled guiltily. “The hospital called me a little while ago.” My hands momentarily stopped cutting the pancakes and she noticed. “They’ve been wondering when we’ll come back again. It’s been a few months and–”

“I’ll write them a check if they’re worried about money,” I interrupted.

She cleared her throat. “That’s not a bad idea, but it’s not what they’re concerned about.” I stuffed another piece in my mouth, and she continued. “They want to discuss other options–”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

She finally glared at me. “Chew your food and stop interrupting! Listen to the doctors for once and think it over. You said no so quickly and left just as fast.”

“Because I won’t do what they’re suggesting. Would you?” I challenged.

“It doesn’t matter because my decision won’t change anything! It’s up to you and _only you_.” She flipped the last pancake onto her plate roughly. “Fine. Don’t change your mind. But you’re going to the hospital. End of discussion.”

“I’m not some teenager you can boss around,” I mumbled under my breath.

Apparently she could still hear me. “Then act like the mature 25-year-old you’re supposed to be.”

I decided to keep eating instead of blowing my mouth again. Once I finished the last bite, I quickly made my way to the sink and cleaned up. “Thanks for breakfast.”

I raced to the bathroom and got ready for the day. After showering, I brushed my teeth and hair, and went back to my room. I grabbed my usual attire for training–a pair of high performance leggings and a loose fitting crop top. I was at the door putting my vans on when Peti looked me over.

“You’re not going to the gym, are you?” she asked incredulously.

I ignored the look she gave me. “I’ve got another match to train for next month. It only makes sense.”

“What about the hospital?”

“I’ll go when I’m finished,” I told her. She slanted her brows in disbelief. “Promise.”

She stared at me in silence for a moment. “Ok. I’ll see you later.”

I nodded curtly and left before she could say anything else. Once I reached the car and tried to open the door, I realized I left the keys inside the house. _Shit_. I really didn’t feel like going back and took the opportunity to go for a run.

I replayed the conversation in my head over and over. There was a million ways that could have gone better. If only I weren’t such a brat. Peti only had my best interests at heart and had all the reason in the world to bring it up. I hadn’t gone to the hospital for 3 months and my rash decision doesn’t just affect me, but everyone involved, including Peti. She was right, obviously. It didn’t mean I had to like it.

My heart raced with shame and adrenaline. _I’ll make it up to her later,_ I promised.

I arrived at the gym not much longer. Fair Pine Boxing Gym was a small enough establishment that it was easy to miss, but not for me. It was still too early for it to open so I knocked the glass doors loudly for the owner to hear.

Connor unlocked the entrance and let me though. “Grey, what you doing here? You’re supposed to be taking it easy for a couple days.”

I brushed past him straight for the supply room. “You can blame Peti for that.” I found exactly what I was looking for and proceeded to the boxing ring.

Connor looked flabbergasted. “Um, did you guys have a fight or something?”

I tightened the hat I grabbed from the supply room and made sure the string attached to the tennis ball was secure. “Something like that.” _You’re acting like a brat again_ , I told myself. “It’s not really her fault. I just hate it when she’s right.”

Connor was still confused. “Riiiiight. So you’re taking out your frustration on the tennis ball?”

I smiled. “You so get me, coach.”

“Does this, by chance, have anything to do with your avoidance? You know, to the hospital?”

My smile dropped. “You noticed?”

Connor rested his arms on the ring mat and watched me wrapping my gloves. “Kind of hard not to.” He drummed his fingers for a while as I began my drills. My focus solely on the tennis ball and making sure I kept my eye and punches consistently on it. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked nicely.

“Not really,” my answer a clipped reply.

“Oh, ok.” I could sense the relief in voice. “You know, it’s ok feeling the way you do. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do if I were in your shoes. It’s just a huge mess. Not saying that it’s a burden or anything!” he started panicking. When he starts panicking, he rambles. “Well, it kind of is. It’s just such a huge decision to make! It’s so much shit to think about at 25. All I ever worried about was making sure I found a job and didn’t eat ramen every day.”

“Connor,” I called for his attention. “I don’t need to be reminded how difficult and shitty this is. I have Peti and myself for that, thanks.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “I’m just saying… it’s alright to… you know, talk about this with someone. Don’t keep it all in.”

I grabbed the tennis ball and removed the hat. “I appreciate the sentiment, Connor. Really, I do. But I don’t want to talk about it. And boxing helps me more than you know. So can we please focus on training today?”

He pursed his lips as if he were trying to make up his mind. “Only if you go back to the hospital soon.”

I threw my hands up, infuriated. “Jesus, what is everyone’s deal today? Look, Peti already made me promise to go today so don’t worry about it! So will you kick my butt already?” I realized what I asked too late. “You know what I mean!”

He laughed at my response. “All right, all right. You win. Keep with the tennis drill. You let that girl last night hit your cheek. Obviously you need more practice with your speed.”

I glared because I couldn’t refute that. Even if fighting her wasn’t exactly a challenge, she still managed to hit me pretty good. I focused on my drilling instead.

Two hours passed by uneventfully. Connor wouldn’t let me spar with him and made me do pull-ups for the last hour. I understood, and even my body kept reminding me I needed this light recovery period, but it’s so boring.

It also reminded me that I had still had things to do today that I’d rather avoid.

“Can you give me a ride to the hospital?” I asked nonchalantly. “I could run there but you probably wouldn’t approve.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s a 20 mile run so no, I wouldn’t. But yeah, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thought so. Let’s go, before I lose my nerve.”

We drove in silence, not even thinking of turning the radio on. It felt like an awkward way to fill the heavy air. We arrived at the hospital parking lot and Connor had to poke my side for me to notice.

“We’re here.”

My hands stayed near my sides and I nervously fiddled with my fingers. Anything to keep myself from unbuckling my belt. “Wanna come with me?” I kept my eyes on the massive white building so I didn’t have to look at him. “I’d feel bad if I cooped you in the car. I don’t know how long I’ll take and I need you to take me back home afterwards.”

“Uh. Sure. If you’re ok with it.”

I nodded. “Kay.” I finally unbuckled the belt and got out the car.

Connor hurried to my side and followed me to the main entrance. A receptionist was on the phone, but she smiled and waved at me when saw me approaching. She covered the phone and said, “Hi, sweetie! You know the drill. Sign the book and take this.” She handed me a pen and removable visitor sticker with an empty space for me to write my name in. “Is he with you?” she pointed to Connor. I nodded. She handed the same sticker to Connor. “Nice seeing you again!”

I didn’t know the receptionist’s name but she was always welcoming. Once I finished signing us in, I waved her goodbye and headed for the elevators.

“What floor?” Connor asked.

“4. ICU.”


End file.
